What does it mean to know a language? Is it to recognize it when heard? To think, “oh that couple was speaking Tagalog” when you pass by them on the street?
My favorite smell, simplicity, of dishes rooted from her home.
Simplicity, but not so plain, in fact more of a delicacy.
Eggs lay themselves in every fridge;
common cooking, cracking shells.
I am grabbing the pink knob; it’s been squeezed
in my hand through the entirety of this project, this journey,
damp with sweat: hard work, hard grip.
The knob flies from air to paper, an unconscious slam
My mother immigrated from Hong Kong to America during her high school years, and continued to live here for college, through early adulthood, till now.